Secrets and Lies
by Pilleriin
Summary: Set right after S 9 'Solidarity' episode. For some reason the dimly lit hospital room seems to be the most desolate place on earth. But Grace is used to being lonely, that's how she always ends up...


**Disclaimer** : WtD belongs to the BBC, all I've got is imagination far too vivid for my own good.

 **A/N** : The hand that clicks 'publish' for the very first time is a bit shaky and I only hope I've done the characters justice. Apologies in advance for any possible mistakes - English is not my native language.

Set right after S 9 ''Solidarity''.

 **Secrets and Lies.**

The dizziness and slowly becoming aware of the time and place is familiar to Grace. It's the third time in her life she regains wakefulness after general anaesthesia. A doctor has just been to her, assuring that the operation was successful and full recovery can be expected. That's a relief. No uncertainty and anxiety of previous time when the surgery had been just the very first step in her fight against the evil disease and further ordeals were still ahead. And nothing like the nightmare she had to go through years ago, waking up to receive the devastating news that something had gone terribly wrong and the loss, hard enough to come to terms with, had turned out to be bigger than she could have ever feared. So that's different – good news this time. That unexplainable and all-consuming loneliness nevertheless feels the same always. For some reason the dimly lit hospital room seems to be the most desolate place on earth. But she is used to being lonely, that's how she always ends up. Still too exhausted to keep her eyes open for long, she drifts into a state of half-sleep and suddenly the flashbacks of her previous life, all the faces and events become very vivid.

She can clearly see Harry Taylor behind his desk, briefly lifting his eyes from the file he's reading to give her an encouraging smile. An attractive young detective, so passionate both in police work and as a lover. He gave her a chance to prove herself professionally. They shared the triumph of solving complicated cases, memorable celebrations starting in the squad-room and ending in her bed. And eventually he turned out to be a coward, leaving her to make the hardest decision of her life all alone.

She can almost smell the freshly mowed grass and hear the birds as if they were still sitting side by side in the park with Murray Stuart – the brave soldier who wouldn't hesitate to fight for his principles, the man who shared her ideals, who made her fall in love with him and then disappeared, leaving her behind with all the unanswered questions. And now their paths had crossed again, but only to shatter her illusions, to reveal the true face of the noble cause she had so wholeheartedly supported. And once so fearless and idealistic man himself had changed unrecognisably. He managed to hurt her again, though unintentionally, but really, physically hurt her.

Luckily all her memories are not that gloomy. Good old Steve... The man who managed to change everything, finally bringing happiness and stability to her life, enabling her to feel all the simple joys of family life she would have never hoped to experience. They had so many golden moments together, brought up two wonderful girls. But even the loving and trustworthy Steve deserted her, that fatal heart-attack robbing them of the chance to grow old together.

She can hear a familiar voice suddenly. Loud, irritated, arguing. Of course – the list wouldn't be complete without Peter Boyd. Unattainable in real life but always present in her dreams. And even there the man has to be so noisy, shout and fight. But even the imaginary Boyd calms down at last, allowing Grace to fall into deep and dreamless sleep.

She's awaken by a young and pretty nurse. It must be very early morning, barely starting to get light outside. She cautiously lifts her slightly sore head to look around. First thing that catches her eye is the man sitting in the corner. Boyd seems to be dozing, one of his legs stretched out, constituting a potential threat for the nurse if she doesn't look out.

''How long has he been here?'' Grace asks from the young nurse who's meticulously recording the numerical values of all her vital signs.

''All night. He came real late yesterday. We tried to explain him that visiting time was over, but he just categorically refused to leave. Since he did refer that you and him were..., '' she struggles to choose a suitable word, ''… partners... we thought that perhaps you would want him to be here and allowed him to stay.''

Grace smirks at the evident discomfiture of the girl. She's in her early twenties and obviously still shares that irreverent standpoint according to which the possibility of any kind of romantic or – god-forbid – sexual relationship after someone has hit fifty is something totally unfathomable.

So that loud argument wasn't just a medication-induced delusion. And Grace definitely wouldn't put it past Boyd to act as preposterously as the young nurse had implied. If that man is determined to get what he wants he won't choose means or mince his words. To admonish him for that would be a complete waste of breath.

Boyd moves in an attempt to adjust his position, a surge of back pain causing him to grimace and open his eyes. Discovering she is awake, he's on his feet and by her side in an instant.

''Grace...How are you? Does your head hurt much?''

The concern and compassion in his voice are genuine and it means more to her than she dares to admit.

The young nurse gives them an hesitant smile and leaves discreetly.

''I'm fine.'' Grace manages a fleeting smile to make it more convincing.

Boyd seems to be immensely relieved, venturing a touch of humour even: ''Glad to see that my political opponent is doing better. I already started to worry about the future of democracy and variety of opinions in this country.''

''Oh, I see, that's why you've kept the vigil then, all in favour of free democracy...'' she retorts.

''How was the sleep? Colourful dreams? I can still remember the last time I had an operation – they did give me one hell of a good drug cocktail, best sleep I've ever had by far...''

Grace can't help flinching, recalling that 'best sleep ever' he's referring to. Two stab wounds in his stomach, critical loss of blood, hours of surgery and a severe allergic reaction to antibiotics to top it all. His condition had been so bad, it was necessary to keep him heavily sedated for three days and the doctors were very curt and cautious about the prognosis.

''I did sleep quite well actually, despite of all the racket in my room last night,'' she remarks with sufficient irony.

His smile becomes apologetic. ''Sorry about that... They really pissed me off. Them and their stupid bloody rules.''

''By the way, what exactly did you tell that pretty little nurse about us. The poor innocent child is absolutely shocked, you know.''

''Oh that...,'' he gives a snort, ''she was just so damned persistent in trying to get rid of me, kept harping on that the visiting time was over and they could only make an exception to someone really close to the patient. Well, I just wanted to know what is 'close' according to their standards, would sleeping together be close enough for example.''

Grace rolled her eyes. ''For heaven's sake, Boyd!''

''It was a purely rhetorical question actually, not my fault she jumped into conclusions,'' he justifies himself with an innocent face. ''And at least they left me in peace after that.''

''They probably just didn't want to risk waking up the entire hospital by calling the security guards to handle you,'' Grace remarks with pretended sternness. ''You really should have done as you were told, gone home and got some proper sleep instead of torturing your back on that rickety chair. Though, I must admit, I'm quite flattered that you fought for the right to watch my sleep with such eagerness, even to the extent of willingly sacrificing the good names of us both,'' she adds, smirking.

Boyd's reply is surprisingly straightforward. ''I didn't want you to be all alone. Your daughters couldn't possibly make it here before this morning. I promised to look after you until they get here.''

''Julie and Stacy... they know? And they're coming here?'' Grace asks in astonishment.

''Of course they know. I called them both last night.''

''But how did you get...,'' Grace starts, realizing then that the question she's about to ask is totally ridiculous.

''Their phone numbers, you mean?'' Boyd smirks. ''I'm a detective, as you know, finding such information happens to be an essential part of my basic training.'' He takes a glance at his wristwatch. ''They should be here pretty soon.''

Grace feels very grateful to him suddenly. In some mysterious way he's managed to do exactly the right things to make her feel better. ''Thank you,'' she says cordially, ''for keeping me company tonight and for contacting my family – it really means a lot to me.''

''That was the least I could do. After all it's my fault you're lying here. I had no right to put you in danger like that.'' He becomes contrite and gloomy.

''Please stop these self-accusations right now, Boyd! Murray Stuart may have some mental problems caused by post-traumatic stress, but he is not a cold-blooded killer and he would have never deliberately harmed me. There wasn't any real danger. And it was my own decision to participate, nobody forced me. What happened was just an accident. There's absolutely nothing to blame you for.''

He gives her a rueful smile and shakes his head. ''Spence and Eve don't share that opinion, I'm afraid. And DSI Cavendish and the upper echelons most certainly not.''

''Then I'll just have to talk to them. And if there's going to be an inquiry, I'm going to tell exactly the same. I'm not letting you take the blame for something you couldn't possibly foresee nor prevent.''

The door opens and the nurse guides in two beautiful young women. Grace's twin stepdaughters really look amazingly alike, different hair styles offering at least some possibility to distinguish them. A moment later Grace is flooded with all the possible care, attention and compassion.

''I really must be going, scheduled meeting at New Scotland Yard 9 o'clock sharp,'' Boyd excuses himself. ''And you've got some much preferable company now.''

* * *

''Time to go home, Dr. Foley, I don't want you to wear yourself out on your first day!''

Grace nearly jumps, surprised by his voice. Boyd is leaning against the door-frame, grinning. Only a minute ago she saw him behind his own desk, intently reading something. It's a complete mystery how that man can move around so quickly and quietly sometimes, almost pulling the house down usually.

Grace has just realised how much she actually missed her office and the excitement of working with something challenging during her forced absence and is therefore delving into the materials of their new multiple murder case with extra enthusiasm. Annoyed by the disturbance, she snaps irritatedly:''I put a paper on your desk this morning, Boyd, didn't you read it? It's my GP's statement that I'm perfectly fit to return to work full time.''

He doesn't give up. ''Full time, yes, not overtime.''

''I really don't require any special treatment. And I have to finish the psychological profile of our possible serial killer that you yourself wanted to get ASAP.''

''You can finish it tomorrow. Right now I want you to go home and rest.''

His uncharacteristic generosity doesn't encounter much appreciation.

''Resting is just about all I've done in last couple of weeks and believe me, Boyd, one can actually become tired of it! All this time Julie and Stacy have been bustling around, taking turns to constantly watch over me. They didn't allow me to do anything but repose in bed. I had no option but to put up with all the pampering because I knew better to not even attempt reasoning with those two when they were so full of determination. And now that the girls have finally accepted that I'm perfectly all right you have to start treating me as an invalid. I'd really like to get my ordinary life back at last, if that's not too much to ask.''

''Fair enough,'' he smirks. ''We all just want the best for you. And your girls really do love you, you know.''

''Of course I know that,'' she admits, very emotional suddenly. ''I really must have done something good in some previous life to deserve them. The way they came into my life... as if it all really was predestined somehow. I had already come to terms with the painful reality that I was never going to have a family of my own, convinced myself that my profession offered me enough possibilities for self-realisation to compensate it. And then I moved to a new flat and my next-door neighbour turned out to be a single father of 4-year-old twins. Their mother had passed away a year before and Steve was barely coping with everything all alone. It didn't take long before he was on my doorstep, desperately needing help and advice. I know it sounds like some soap opera, but we really made it work, we had good life and we brought up two wonderful girls together. And that outweighs all my professional achievements. I'll never forget that Mother's Day morning years ago when I found two self-drawn cards on my bedside table for the first time...''

She pauses to wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes.  
''It's hard to explain that feeling... I just couldn't possibly love these girls any more even if I had given birth to them myself.''

Boyd smiles, nodding knowingly.  
''You don't have to explain me anything. I know exactly what you mean. Little Matty used to run to the door every night I came home. And when I picked him up, he just clung to my neck, so genuinely happy to see me. All I wanted on these moments was to be the kind of dad that little boy righteously deserved. I would have done anything for him.''

''And you were a real hands-on dad all right, as I can remember,'' Grace remarks, smirking. ''Always driving around with the little fellow on the back seat. Even took him to a crime scene with you once...''

''Made myself a laughing stock and pissed Jen off royally,'' he admits with a sad smile. ''But I really loved Matty, given the chance I would have raised him as my very own.''

''You've never actually told me how did it all end so suddenly. Why did you and Jen break up?''

Boyd looks down and gives a weary sigh.  
''Matty's real father showed up. That bastard walked out when the boy was only a couple of weeks old, left Jen all alone, without any financial support. Three years later he suddenly turned up out of the blue and discovered to his surprise that the screaming little nuisance from whom he had run to the other end of the world had in the meantime grown out of diapers, learned to walk and talk. So he decided that he wanted to be a father after all, declared blatantly that he had every right to the boy. And Jen was all so willing to forgive and forget everything. I wasn't particularly happy with that, to put it mild. Things didn't work out between us any more, arguments and mutual accusations became almost daily routine. And one day I came home and the house was empty. I did track them down, tried to keep in touch for Matty's sake. Just asked for a chance to visit him once in a while – birthdays, Christmas, things like that. Jen made it perfectly clear to me that I was unwelcome, told that she didn't want me to use her son as a means of absolving my failure with Luke. I'm sure the boy has forgotten all about me by now.''

Grace can clearly see how much it still hurts him even so many years later.

''I'm so sorry. And all this time you came to work every day as if nothing had happened and none of us knew what was going on in your private life...''

''That's why it's called 'private' life, right?'' he smirks with bitterness. ''Don't we all have things we tend to keep to ourselves, you as well. We spend so much time together and for weeks I knew nothing about your health problems. You even tried to hide being in hospital and undergoing a serious operation from me, I had to squeeze that information out of Eve.''

''I knew that you lost Mary to cancer. But it was very different in my case, the tumour was discovered in an early stage, the prognosis was optimistic from the very start. If I had told you, it would have unnecessarily brought back all the painful memories. I wanted to spare you from that. I can only imagine how hard it must have been to see Mary suffer.''

''It was hard,'' Boyd admits, heaving a deep sigh. ''She just withered away... and I could do nothing to help her. That's the most awful thing – the feeling of total helplessness and uselessness. I couldn't even spend as much time with her during her last months as I would have wanted. My mother-in-law had monopoly on her bedside. The firm conviction of that woman had always been that I was the main culprit in all the miseries of the world and she used every opportunity to make sure I knew that too. I didn't want to upset Mary with our constant squabbling, so I concentrated on the one and only thing I could still do for her – trying to find our son. When it became clear that she hadn't much left, my search for Luke became desperate. I was racing against time, did everything humanly possible. All in vain. Mary never stopped believing, until the very end she expected that by some miracle Luke will return home safe and sound. I couldn't take that hope away from her, although by that time I didn't expect to find him alive any more. But on her final evening she suddenly asked whether I thought that Luke was dead. I didn't know what to say, the last thing I wanted was to sadden her. And then she smiled and told me that she wouldn't mind me thinking so, for in that case she was going to meet him soon. And shortly after that she fell asleep and never woke up again, passed away peacefully a few hours later. I've never been a churchgoer or given much credit to all that rubbish they preach about there, but when Mary died I really wanted to believe it all, the thought of her and Luke together somewhere was just so comforting, made it all a little bit more tolerable. Every time I went to Mary's grave I lit an extra candle for Luke as well, hoping that wherever his body might be resting, his soul was with his mother.''

Boyd lifts his hand to cover his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard to fight back the tears. Grace looks at him in silent compassion, unable to find any words of comfort right away.

He seems to be fighting an inner battle between the deep-rooted habit of keeping things to himself and the urge to get it all off his chest at last. The latter obviously wins and after a pause he continues.

''I really wanted that ridiculous fairy-tale to be true, secretly cherished it for all those years. When they contacted me about the young man with matching DNA, I just didn't believe it, that DNA couldn't belong to anyone alive. I went to that mental unit where they kept him, expecting to find a complete stranger there and discover that it all was just a silly human mistake or some error of database, whatever. Then I stood behind that door and the moment I saw him through the little square of glass I recognised him. Of course he had changed in years, living rough on the streets and drugs leaving their trace. But the young man sitting on the bed there was Luke, my son.''

He pauses, staring in the distance, probably seeing it all clearly again in his mind's eye.

''I should have felt happy to see him alive, should have rejoiced and stormed in to hug him. But all I could think of was that if he was alive he must have known how desperately and why I tried to find him years ago. I had spread the word everywhere, spent days and nights out on the streets, talking to street kids, junkies, drug dealers. I had begged everybody to help me find Luke, at least to pass him the message that his mother was dying. The whole London knew, the whole damned country knew, there was just no way it could have escaped him. The only explanation had to be that he deliberately ignored it all. Mary nearly died giving birth to him, couldn't have any more children after that. Luke was her entire life, she gave him all the love and devotion any child could ever wish. She didn't deserve to die without a chance to see him for the last time, without a chance to say good-bye. Her beloved boy didn't even come to her funeral. And I just couldn't forgive him all that. I couldn't open that door and face Luke that night, I turned around and walked away. When I went back the next day he had already left.''

''Seeing Luke after all those years was a tremendous shock. It was only natural that you needed some time to calm down and let it all sink in. You really mustn't blame yourself for that,'' Grace attempts to forfend the predictably following self-accusation.

Boyd doesn't seem to hear her. He's got that haunted look in his eyes Grace has seen several times before when she has found him sitting alone, lost in depressive thought, blind and deaf to the rest of the world.

He continues, talking rather to himself, finally saying out things he's probably gone over hundreds of times in his head.

''I should have talked to him that night, should have told him that no matter what, I still loved him, that I was still his father – nothing would ever change that... I must have convinced him that I was ready to do anything to help and support him. That's what Mary would have wanted me to do. But I walked away and let my only child down, I drove him back to the streets and self-destruction, into the clutches of Penny Cain eventually. I was given a chance to save him, to change everything and I didn't use that chance. And I have to live with that knowledge, with that guilt until my dying day.''

Grace knows what he's talking about, by her own bitter experience. She's familiar with the curse of one wrong decision, one fatal step, resulting in ever-lasting grief and guilt, beyond any redemption. No logical explanations and justifications, no words of compassion could ever ease the blame. One can learn to live with it, hide it from the world, but the pain never stops. Boyd's not the only one to bear that burden, she's been there, she knows it all too well.

It's an unconscious, almost instinctive reaction to reach out her hand for him. He takes it and there's gratitude in his dark eyes. One gentle touch, momentarily locked gaze and much more mutual compassion and understanding is exchanged than they could ever condense into words. They're not alone, neither of them.

The phone starts ringing demandingly, breaking the spell.

Boyd has to cough several times to regain his normal voice. ''Yes, Spence... Where? ...and what does Eve think?... OK, I'll be there as soon as I can.''

''New evidence?'' Grace suggests.

''Yeah. Another mutilated body turned up. Eve's positive it's the same killer. Looks like the Riverbank Butcher is really back after ten years.''

''Maybe I should come and have a look as well...''

Boyd is resolute: ''No, at least not before tomorrow morning. Nothing for you to do on that muddy riverbank in the dark. I'll drop you home on my way there.''

* * *

If Peter Boyd allows the whole team, himself included, to call it a day at 5 pm sharp, there must be a reason for it. Tonight there is - they've solved the decade-old mystery of the Riverbank Butcher, erased another blot from the Met's ignominious list of unsolved murders. Six much-suffered families got their answers at last and a dangerous predator was stopped before he could carry on his hideous work. Enough reason to celebrate, to be proud of themselves. It's a long time since the whole CCU team has sat together informally like that, over good food and drink. Well, not the whole team to be exact – Sarah Cavendish is attending a conference in Manchester. But she's not quite missed. The atmosphere of mistrust still lingers, she hasn't become one of them yet. For some reason Grace doubts if she ever will.

However pleasant, their little gathering still reaches it's natural end. Spence and Eve have already left, heading to whatever entertainments awaiting for them, undoubtedly attempting to make the most of their Friday night off. Grace takes her time to enjoy the last glass of excellent red wine. The long and solitary evening at home doesn't feel attractive at all. Boyd seems to be in no hurry either and the 5-minute walk to his car spontaneously turns into a much longer late afternoon stroll.

Their conversation is once again revolving around work issues, but now Boyd is much more straightforward than in the company of the younger colleagues.

''At least for a little while the upper echelons can't list us as a complete waste of money. Bloody tiresome is that constant need to justify our existence, a considerable part of my time and energy goes there. At the beginning it was even quite understandable, the CCU was considered to be some short-time experiment. But nothing changes - all these years, all the results we've provided and the glances still turn to us any time budget cuts become an issue. And it's gone much worse since Maureen Smith's promotion. I'm starting to believe that getting rid of me really is at the top of this woman's agenda. The whole business of appointing Sarah Cavendish to our unit – I don't think this was done without some deep design. She is young and ambitious and desperately wants to rehabilitate herself. I wouldn't be surprised at all if she has been reporting to ACC Smith personally on every slightly questionable step I make. It's not that I blame her - I was just as idealistic back in the day, thinking that I could change anything by informing the upper echelons on Eddie Vine. They were all just too scared to touch him, knowing that if he'd gone down, he would have dragged them along as well. But the report on my mistakes will be warmly welcomed in Maureen Smith's office. And they will find some polite or less polite way of getting me out of their way sooner or later.''

Grace looks at him, slightly shaking her head. ''So pessimistic.'' A sympathetic acknowledgement rather than reproach.

''Realistic. And maybe they're right, maybe it's time for me to step aside before I make another misjudgement and somebody gets hurt again.''

Grace turns her eyes skyward in irritation. ''Don't start with that again, Boyd! How many times do I have to repeat: it was an accident, it was my voluntary decision...''

He doesn't let her finish, cutting in agitatedly. ''You weren't free in that decision, Grace. I deliberately put you in a position where you had no alternative but to go through it. And it had nothing to do with the need to prove your loyalty to the unit or that anybody ever suspected you of hiding evidence or trying to cover up for your friend. The real reason was that I was jealous of Murray Stuart. It wasn't you who had a conflict of interests regarding that investigation, it was me who couldn't keep personal and professional apart any more. I forced you to choose between Murray Stuart and myself. My jealousy, my incapability to cope with my feelings for you could have cost your life.''

She stares at him in complete confusion. ''I don't understand...''

Boyd continues his determined self-reproach. ''It's all my fault that things became so complicated, I should have told you the truth years ago.''

''What truth Boyd? What exactly are you trying to tell me?''

Such a direct question manifestly disconcerts him and he gets stuck right away.  
''Look, Grace, I want to tell you how much you really mean... how I feel about you... how I've always... I mean I have felt that way about you since I've known you... and... '' He runs his fingers through his hair nervously, giving an exasperated sigh, mutters some curse and makes a sincere confession finally: ''Damn, it's so difficult... I had it all figured out in my head ages ago what I wanted to say to you and now that the moment comes it's all gone...'' He gives her a guilty smile, partially an apology, partially a request for help.

Grace knows she's supposed to say something, but for some reason she feels equally tongue-tied. It's all just too unexpected and incomprehensible to be taken in.

The lack of reaction from her side leaves Boyd perplexed. Forced by his innate stubbornness he gives another try to get through to her.

''Do you remember how easy everything was between us years ago when we started to work together – all that good-natured banter and a little bit of harmless flirting over a glass of wine sometimes?''

The recollection gets across, making Grace smile involuntarily. The good old times... Even their arguments were enjoyable back then, without the fury and bitterness of later years.

''And it really was simple and harmless at the very beginning when I was still licking my wounds after the fiasco of my surrogate family and you... you were still wearing your wedding ring, having not overcome the loss of your husband yet... But even then there was already something, somekind of spark... It wasn't just my imagination, Grace, was it?''

Grace may keep silent, but she can't hide anything from that intense stare of his dark brown eyes. Nobody can, not even the most hardened felons.

Her response seemingly being what he expected, Boyd continues his confession with uncharacteristic candour and fluency.

''I don't know when exactly all the little fantasies and dreams became serious, but it didn't take long before I had a real, full-blooded crush on you. Trust me, hiding my feelings from you was the last thing I wanted. There was just too much on stake at that time. You know the Met – a bloody wasp nest of gossip and hypocrisy. I already had that stupid little fling with Jess Worrall on my record, they wouldn't have forgiven me any more transgressions. I had no right to jeopardise the future of the unit or risk the careers of us both. There were plenty of people in the upper echelons who always secretly hoped that the whole CCU project was doomed and I just kept digging my own grave. I really couldn't offer them the pleasure, could I? At least for a while I had to do everything by the book and just be content with the pleasant opportunity of seeing you at work every day. But I never stopped cherishing the thought that some day when things have settled down a bit we could be much more than just friends and colleagues. And then I became aware of you and Harry Taylor... I saw how hard bringing up all the painful memories was for you. You were so devastated and heartbroken even weeks later. All my attempts to help and comfort you seemed to make things even worse. And then I figured out that for some reason I reminded you of him. That realisation pretty much equalled a death sentence for all my hopes and dreams. I knew then that as long as we worked together I'd never stand a chance - all I could offer you was just another surreptitious office romance. You deserved so much better. I tried my best to avoid any situation or remark that could have made you uncomfortable, decided to keep our relationship strictly professional from then on. But I didn't consider that on professional level we had always had different standpoints and disagreements and when I eliminated everything that helped to keep the balance and ease the tension, all the contradictions were heightened. That was when our arguments became so fierce and bloody. And my wretched temper and that constant frustration of being so close to you and not able to tell the truth – it definitely didn't improve the situation. Everything was falling apart. Sometimes when things really got to the extreme, the times you threatened to tender your notice – part of me even wished you really did. I would have been on your doorstep the very next morning, told the truth, laid it all on one card. Maybe we could have still had a chance, the written and unwritten rules out of our way at last... ''

She recognizes it – all that tension, the self-inflicted boundaries. There had been occasions, lots of them, when she had criticised him with unnecessary sharpness or provoked an argument out of shear frustration. Heal thyself, doctor... As a psychologist Grace can understand, even logically explain everything.  
As a woman she still has that one painful thorn in her heart that makes her retort spitefully: ''There was a very strong possibility that you could have been in New York on someone else's doorstep on that particular morning!''

He gives a weary sigh and looks down in resignation, avoiding her accusatory look.

''What can I say, Grace... I'm only human. I thought I had ruined all normal relationship between us beyond repair. I just couldn't bear all that stress any more, I had to do something, change something. And following Sarah to New York offered a solution, though hardly the best or wisest one. I'm not going to lie to you – there was physical attraction, even emotional attachment to a certain extent. But it wasn't love, I wasn't looking for love. And as for Sarah... I'm not sure she knew herself what she was after. She did leave a message on my answering machine, emotionally declaring her love for me and the very next day she called back, suddenly suggesting that we should take things slowly, leave each other room to breathe, meet other people too – all the age-old excuses. She tried to dish it up as a big favour to me, enabling me to concentrate on Luke. It was easy to read between the lines that she just had reconsidered things and came to a conclusion that me and my family problems were not what she needed in her life. And that was it – end of story.''

They stand in silence for a while. When Boyd finally continues, his voice is unusually quiet.

''When Luke died... of all people you were by my side, offering support and comfort. You had every right to give up on me, considering how things were between us and still you proved to be the best friend I've ever had. And I'm eternally grateful to you for helping me to survive it all. I needed a good friend more than anything else in these days. When you were fighting with cancer I did my very best to reciprocate, to be just as supporting and understanding. Somehow this newly established friendship turned out to be the golden mean for us. I was ready to be content with it and stop chasing my unrealistic dreams. Then we started to investigate Pierce Kennedy's death and all my calm and complacence crumbled into dust. I knew that you had loved your husband and Harry Taylor, but both of them were dead, these chapters of your life were closed. Murray Stuart was alive and it was clear that you still felt something for him. I was so terrified of loosing you to him and in the end I could have lost you altogether... That night at the hospital when they tried to kick me out – that was the moment of truth. I didn't have to lie to get to stay there, as far as I was concerned I told them the absolute truth - I had to be there with you that night because I loved you, because I had been loving you all those years. I finally said it out loud and clear to complete strangers. And it felt so right. All I had to do was to wait for you to recover, so I could tell you as well.''

Physically recovered Grace may be, but emotionally she definitely isn't ready for all that and to her own surprise she is seething with futile anger. She has patiently put up with everything, accepted that things just were the way they were. And now that they finally seemed to have overcome their dissensions and established a friendly truce, now he suddenly decides to come forward with his revelation that changes everything, puts things into completely different perspective. So many wasted years... Grace feels betrayed, humiliated even. Damn the man, he has no right to do that to her, to turn her whole world upside down like that.

Tears prickling in her eyes, a lump burning in her throat, she presses out furiously: ''Well, now you've told me. And what am I supposed to do now? Praise you for years long masterly performance? Berate myself for being utterly stupid and obtuse? Because I really had no idea! Well, shame on me that I misinterpreted all that shouting and door slamming and storming out of my office! But I've never considered pulling pigtails as a constructive way of expressing affection, you know.''

Boyd is clearly shocked by her painful reaction. And that probably causes him to be brutally honest suddenly, beyond all embarrassment.

''Grace... you have no idea how often this shouting and storming away from you has been just a pathetic escape, a desperate attempt to avoid you noticing that very blatant effect being close to you sometimes has on me...''

For some reason Grace recalls an office party when she accidentally happened to overhear a group of hysterically giggling young female colleagues, their main topic being a certain senior officer and how sometimes even the most expensive tailoring failed to disguise some interesting peculiarities of his anatomy. The girls definitely had drunk a glass too many and the whole discussion was utterly juvenile, but Grace had to confess herself that even her eyes had sometimes wondered on their own volition, causing some highly inappropriate feedback from her imagination. So if Boyd is really referring to what she thinks he is, then... she quite understands his predicament. She clearly remembers how uncomfortable were all those occasions when some slightly flirtatious remark, totally accidental touch or a lingering glance of the mesmerising dark eyes resulted in the tell-tale blush of her cheeks she desperately hoped he failed to notice or if he did, at least put on the account of the red wine they'd been drinking.

Suddenly it all seems impossibly ridiculous, tragicomic even. They're not some bloody teenagers, how on earth could they end up like that... A moment ago she was on the verge of tears and now she just can't help bursting into laughter. Fortunately Boyd doesn't take offence but joins in. It's incredibly liberating, that joint laughter. And what good would crying do anyway.

The forces of nature don't seem to share that opinion. The dark cloud above them suddenly seems to have determined to pour out all it's contents on them as in punishment for their folly. The fierce deluge starts so unexpectedly, making them both yelp in surprise and rush towards his car. They're both soaked through before they get there.

At least for Grace the situation isn't funny any more. The treatment that so successfully managed to root out the evil disease had an unpleasant side-effect of completely ruining her natural thermoregulation. She's already shivering, totally helpless to do anything against the paralysing chill conquering her entire body.

Boyd looks her with concern and sympathy.  
''Jesus, Grace, you're trembling like a leaf! You need a bath and hot drink right away. Let's go to my place, it's closer. We've got to warm you up as quickly as possible.''  
He decisively starts the engine and turns on the windscreen wipers.

Grace is too cold, too bloody uncomfortable to argue.

* * *

Though Grace has been to Boyd's house several times in years, the top floor has remained a firmly restricted territory so far. She can't help feeling a bit like a trespasser.

The bathroom is immaculate, all the appliances top quality and expensive undoubtedly. It's still clear at first sight that the room's been designed according to the practical needs of a single man. She feels partially amused, partially self-conscious hanging her very feminine items of clothing to dry by the radiator. Strictly contrasting with the overall masculine atmosphere.

The bedroom is almost empty, just the wardrobe and the bed. No TV, none of these little ordinary things that bedrooms are usually loaded with. Ascetic is the word that first comes to her mind. But the bed most certainly doesn't attach to that concept. It's huge and comfortable, the mattress, pillows, silk linen, duvet – all being distinctively luxurious. But this luxury is hardly intended to impress any possible female guest, rather serving the main purpose of offering good rest, a chance to sleep off. And that's what Boyd righteously deserves, considering how often his unconventional working hours leave him no time to enjoy all this.

The white shirt that's left for her to put on seems to be brand new. That's good, she really doesn't need the distracting knowledge that the same shirt has covered his bare skin. Grace decisively forbids her thoughts to take any slippery route. The hot shower has offered temporary relief from shivering, but the effect won't last for long unless she gets under the duvet right now. And that's what she does with firm resolution. She really can't afford any girlish coyness right now.

Boyd returns from the kitchen with two steaming mugs. His hair is still a bit damp and tousled. He has discarded the wet suit and changed into jeans and dry shirt, which he hasn't bothered to button up. Not cold at all and definitely not one bit self-conscious.

Grace takes first sip from the mug passed to her. It feels like liquid fire, leaving her breathless. Boyd must have added a drop of alcohol to the tea. A generous drop.

''Some strong tea,'' she remarks, still coughing.

''Secret ingredient,'' he blinks slyly. ''Trust me, that will give your blood circulation a proper restart, has helped me to survive many a cold winter night on surveillance.''

It's all like a dream - she is in Peter Boyd's bedroom, in his bed, wearing nothing but one of his finest shirts and the man himself is sitting right next to her, smiling that wonderful, irresistible smile. And all it took to get there was a brief walk in the rain...

That rain must have washed away all the pointless self-inflicted barriers as well, for suddenly it seems so natural to reach for him and pull him closer, dive into his invitingly warm embrace and eagerly respond to the first burning touch of his lips.

It surprises her that in spite of Boyd's tempestuous nature and years of waiting he is so gentle and patient. It looks like he's got all the time in the world. Every tender kiss and touch is so cunningly meant to map all the wonderfully sensitive spots on her body and then this newly acquired knowledge is taken into use in most wicked way. But it feels heavenly, making her gasp and whisper his name huskily.

''I hope you're not cold any more, are you?'' he asks teasingly.

''I've never felt warmer in my entire life!'' She means it wholeheartedly.

His answering smile is triumphant and smug, almost irritatingly so. But this smugness is not going to last for long. Grace has already made some valuable observations of her own about his 'weaknesses' and tonight she won't hesitate to give just as good as she gets.

* * *

It's completely dark outside and the rain still keeps pouring down. It doesn't matter. Grace just snuggles closer into Boyd's embrace. There's something distinctively possessive in the way he instantly tightens his grip around her and plants a lazy kiss against the top of her head. She doesn't mind, on the contrary.

''Peter, what exactly did you put in that tea?''

He doesn't say anything, but his face is so close she can feel the corners of his mouth rise. It's too dark to see that wonderful mischievous grin. It doesn't matter. The ardent kiss that follows compensates everything.

The End.


End file.
